"No bleeding," Ellis stipulates, the point truncated because his throat aches. It's not about who is or isn't squeamish. It's about who should be in this chamber on the off chance they summon something blighted and hostile.

But of course, the conclusion they all come to is the same: they have no answers, and therefore cannot yet leave. So he nods, circling around over the long-dried bloodstains of the pool to leave them both room to get at the bells and position himself between the pair of them and the mural of Dumat. Instinct says if something is coming, it'll come from where. Carefully, he steps between the bells, up to the edge of the little brass city and the singular, ominous summoner of black stone. His hand doesn't leave the handle of his mace.